


going to california

by v1lebloods



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Post s14, The Lance of Michael (Supernatural), cas dies at the end, im sorry, twist and shout wannabe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-05-28 07:48:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19389682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/v1lebloods/pseuds/v1lebloods
Summary: castiel and chuck always had a special link, even if cas didn't want it. so it shouldn't come as a surprise that god could snap his fingers and make cas rot from the inside out- hell, he's GOD. he could snap his fingers and do that to anyone.





	going to california

“Dean.”

The normally gravelly, demanding voice came out as a whimper. Fingers gripped his arms tightly, desperately. Cas’s blue eyes, the tumultuous deep blue shade of the Atlantic ocean itself, looked up at him with desperation, fear.

Dean pressed harder on the wound, trying to ignore the black rot covering his fingers, the blackened veins crawling up the side of Castiel’s face, the goop that made its way out of Cas’s mouth when he opened it to let out another groan of agony. Dean looked up at Castiel as an insistent, but weak, hand pressed to his face. 

He was pale, deathly so; it was startling to see. He was normally so tan, but now…Dean clenched his teeth, trying to block out the pitiful wimpers the once-powerful angel made. He remembered that night in the barn the ceiling clattering with the very force of Castiel’s existence. The high, keening whine that shattered windows and potentially eardrums. The very sight of him in his rawest form that had burned out Pamala’s eyes. How had it come to this?

Cas’s grip on his arm was tight, impossibly so, for one so close to death.

Dean should have seen this coming. Castiel was an angel of the Lord, albeit fallen. He had an inseparable link to Chuck that nobody else shared. How should it come as a surprise that Chuck could simply snap his fingers and have Castiel nearly writhing on the ground, rotting from the inside out? 

This whole situation was reminiscent of the Lance of Michael. Dean couldn’t remember feeling as helpless and scared as he did that night, except for when he was holding his baby brother in his arms as he died.   
  


But Sam’s pain in the moment that he’d folded to his knees and flopped helplessly like a ragdoll in the wind seemed incomparable to Castiel’s.

“Dean,” Cas whimpered again, his voice weak. 

“I’m right here, Cas, I’m right here. You-You’re going to be fine. It’s not even that ba-”

“Don’t lie to me, Dean. I’m dying.”

“Don’t say that,” Dean snapped. He knew it was true. Cas only had a few moments left, if not less. No matter how hard the angel tried to fight it, his body was failing him, painfully pumping rotten blood through him until he could no longer function. 

The whites of his ever-blue eyes were rapidly turning a dark grey color as Cas looked up at him knowingly. 

Just because Dean knew it was true didn’t mean he had to accept it. “We’ll find a spell-”

“There is no spell for this, Dean. God willed it so.”

Why did it sound like Cas was trying to calm HIM down? 

Nonetheless, Dean lifted his hands from the wound, and even more black blood spilled out. It wasn’t like Dean was doing anything for the wound in the first place. He took in a deep breath, looking Cas in the eyes. His gaze was distant, clouded with pain. It seemed as soon as Dean moved, he curled in on himself with an agonized whine. 

“Dean- don’t leave-..” he stuttered, even though his iron grip remained on Dean’s sleeve. 

Dean had shifted his position, hoisting Cas’s limp body onto his lap and trying to ignore the whine of pain that the angel couldn’t hold in. 

“I’m not going to, buddy, I’m right here,” he soothed. One hand was caressing Cas’s face, only succeeding in smearing ugly black blood around his features. The other stroked carefully through Cas’s hair. 

“Dean- my wings- they’re-they’re..”

Dean felt his stomach drop more, if that was even physically possible. Cas had lost his wings nearly six years ago. Was it really that bad? Was he losing his memories, on top of it all? 

“I know, I know,” he murmured. He’d been saying that a lot. What else could he do? 

“My grace-....it isn’t...healing me…...Dean-...”

“I know. You’re going to be okay, Cas.” A blatant lie, but the panic in Cas’s eyes seemed to fade. “You’re going to be okay, it will all be fine…”

Silence ensued. Cas’s breaths grew shallower. 

When the silence was growing to be too much, a much weaker voice broke the air. “D...Dean?”

Dean looked down at Castiel. He wanted to scream, punch something,  _ kill _ something. Cas had reached his limit for pain long ago, and yet it got worse. Words could not form. His mouth felt like cotton. 

“Dean??” Castiel’s voice grew high, panicked. Unseeing blackened eyes looked up at him- well rather, just past him. 

“I-I’m right here, Cas,” he finally forced out, gripping Castiel’s shoulder. Cas calmed.

“Dean..” he stammered again. He was trying to force something out, but it seemed close to impossible. “Dean- I…...love..you..” he finally ground out. 

What little resolve Dean had left came crumbling down. He let out a breath, tears streaking down his face as he soothed his fingers through Castiel’s hair. Even that was starting to rot, the normally gorgeous looking locks dry and brittle. 

Dean leaned down and planted a kiss right on Castiel’s lips. Cas seemed to melt into it, hands grabbing onto Dean’s shoulders before he finally pulled back. “I know, Cas, I know.”

He didn’t bother to wipe the horrible tasting (and smelling) black, rotten goop from his face. He didn’t want to act disgusted in frost of Castiel, even if it was clear that his vision had left him long ago, undoubtedly caused by the pressure of the black rot that filled his friend’s cranium. 

More silence ensued, Castiel’s breaths only getting shallower. With each heave of his chest, there was a horrible, hollow gurgling sound. Dean should have figured that the fluid would fill Cas’s lungs. 

There was once a time where Dean thought that God wouldn’t be so cruel. 

“Dean….” the voice was a whisper. Dean hardly heard it, but he leaned down to Castiel nonetheless, listening. “Dean, I’m scared.”

Well if that didn’t add the cherry on top of the shit-cake. Fear and sadness replaced themselves with anger. He was going to fucking kill Chuck. Rip his spine out from his fucking mouth, make the son of a bitch watch as he played with his fucking insides- 

But that wasn’t what Castiel needed right now. “Don’t be.” He said quietly, continuing to stroke Castiel’s hair. Cas still looked scared, so Dean did what he knew best- he did what he did for little Sammy when he had a nightmare, hell, he’d done it once when they were in an airplane doomed to crash. 

He sung. 

The first song that came to mind.

Of course it was Zeppelin. 

“ _ Spent my days with a woman unkind,  _

_ smoked my stuff and drank all my wine. _

_ Made up my mind to make a new start _

_ Going to California with an achin’ in my heart…”  _

At one point, Castiel’s eyes had closed, and Dean could see the relief in them as all of his pain slipped away from him. Dean couldn’t help but be relieved, too. He was glad that Castiel couldn’t feel anything anymore- ANYTHING would be better than watching Cas writhe in a pitiful attempt to escape his pain (and only make it worse in the process.)

Castiel slipped away a few moments later, Dean still brokenly singing along to Going to California. 


End file.
